


Ties

by traumschwinge



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage and Discipline, Cock Bondage, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Denial of Feelings, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29136315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: Geralt managed to get himself caught by a gang of shady thugs. Disoriented, he wakes up later, only to realize he'd been bound to a bed, naked. To his luck, and great mortification, Emhyr already had the gang under broad surveillance for abducting innocents.Okay, look, this is porn, with a bit of plot around it. It's is mostly an excuse for me to write Geralt tied up and horny.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Non-con warnings apply for the first scenes of this chapter, it's all consensual between Geralt and Emhyr.

Geralt should have known something was wrong before he’d entered the shabby harborside warehouse. He did realize it when he’d made his fourth step inside, mostly by the net somebody threw over him and the gang of armed men suddenly surrounding him. He still tried to fight back, but it was difficult when, instead of engaging him, they kept wrapping more and more ropes around him. It was like they’d known exactly how he fought and what to expect from his magic and then decided to not take any chances. It meant that when he eventually went down, he was alive, but helpless.

He was cursing up a storm, trying to kick at his captors as best as he could, until four of them held his legs down so they could tie him up properly. They did the same with his wrists, not removing the makeshift bindings until they were sure he was secured properly. Lastly, one especially brave one wearing mail gloves stuffed a rag soaked beyond capacity in some kind of potion into his mouth.

Shortly after that, Geralt lost consciousness.

* * *

When Geralt regained consciousness, he was still tied up. Worse, he’d also been stripped completely bare. But now, he was lying on his belly on something soft, even though his arms had been pulled straight up above his head and his legs had been spread wide, by ties around his ankles. Everything felt sluggish when he tried to move. His mouth still tasted of the old rag and the horrible potion. But considering his position, that was probably still better than what would await him.

He struggled against his bonds. They creaked a little, but held, and afterward, he was even more tired than he’d been before.

“Are you done?” somebody above him asked. Geralt tried to turn his head and struggled with renewed energy. It earned him a hard slap between his shoulder blades, driving the air from his lungs, before his head was pulled up with his hair. “You better accept that you’re here to stay, soon. Or don’t. Some of our customers like a bit of fight left in their merchandise. But I promise you it won’t get any easier if you’re fighting it.” He let go off Geralt’s hair. “You’re lucky you’re already sold and your buyer wants you virginial or I’d break you myself.”

Geralt could hear a bottle be uncorked. His head was pulled up by his hair again and the bottle was put to his lips. “Drink, or else.” Geralt tried to shake his head, which only led to the grip being tightened in his hair. He was sure the thug wouldn’t stop before he pulled out whole chunks if Geralt didn’t stop struggling. It didn’t stop him. Whatever was in the bottle smelled vile.

After a few minutes, the thug took the bottle away. “If that’s how you like to play…” Geralt heard the bottle be put down on a nearby table and then the thug walked back over to him. An iron ring with leather straps was dropped on the mattress, right within Geralt’s view. It looked nasty. And big. Big enough to stick more through it than just the neck of a bottle.

“I heard witchers deal really well with pain,” the thug mused. Before Geralt could even think of a response, something hard and flexible struck his back. He clenched his jaw so he wouldn’t scream. He wouldn’t give the thug that satisfaction.

Blow after blow rained down on his back and behind. Geralt was almost sure the switch he was beaten with had broken skin by the time it ended. He’d started to scream eventually, muffled by the sheets as best as he could. If it had gone on for much longer, he’d probably also have started to sob. The thug really knew what he was doing.

When the blows finally stopped, he could feel the mattress dip under the thug’s weight. “It really is a shame,” the thug said, as he pressed his clothed groin against Geralt’s butt and leaned over him to pick up the ring with its straps. “Such a shame I’m not allowed to fuck you.” He held the ring up to Geralt’s mouth. “If you bite, I’ll whip you for the rest of the night.” The way the thug’s prick twitched at his words, Geralt had no doubt that he meant it. So, obediently, he opened his mouth so the thug could fasten the gag.

“Smart choice.” The thug pulled Geralt’s head further back, so far that Geralt feared if he used just a bit more force his spine would snap, and then pushed the neck of the bottle so deep into Geralt’s mouth he started to gag. Swallowing in this position hurt, but it was either that or more of the switch. The potion tasted worse than it had smelled, with a thick, oily quality to it and a sour and bitter taste. It also made Geralt feel weaker with each gulp. Clearly a poison, but not one he’d ever encountered.

When the bottle was empty, the thug moved it out of Geralt’s mouth before pushing it back in as far as it would go, making Geralt gag, longer and longer with each consecutive try until Geralt finally figured out how to keep himself from choking. Geralt was exhausted from the treatment when the bottle was finally removed and the thug let go of him.

“Try to get some rest,” he was advised. “Your new master will be here tomorrow.”

* * *

Geralt was woken the next time with a stinging slap to his butt. Disoriented, he tried to move, but couldn’t. He tried again and then realized he was still tied up in the same position he’d been last time. With the addition of a blindfold. His lips were dry and cracked, but licking them did no good, as his entire mouth felt dry. At least somebody had been so kind as to remove the horrific ring gag while he’d been out. It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless, he hoped.

“Wakey wakey,” a new voice said. There was sadistic glee in it that made Geralt tense in anticipation of the pain about to follow. “Your new lord and master is about to arrive, so try to look alive, yeah?”

Geralt heard steps walk away and then stop. For a while, all he heard was his own breath and heartbeat and that of a single guard. If he’d been able to move as he wanted, he might have been able to free himself, with a little luck. As it was, he could try as he might, all he got were cramps in his shoulders.

Then, the door was opened and people, three, at least, entered. He could hear a soft gasp from one of them.

“He’s a prize alright,” the voice of the thug who’d whipped Geralt’s back bloody noted. “Still a lot of fight left in him, of course. But in due time, he can be tamed. And no worries about the pain endurance with this one either. He’s a witcher. Sorry about the scars, obviously comes with the profession and…” He trailed off. Somebody said something to him, very softly, then, people left the room and Geralt was sure he was alone with a single man. 

To his surprise, he wasn’t touched. The bed tipped under the man’s weight by his side, not behind him. “Hold still,” a somehow familiar voice ordered. He could feel the rope around his wrist tense for a moment before it went completely slack. His wrists came free with just a few tugs and pulls. While he was still marvelling at his suddenly freed hands, the weight around him shifted, freeing his one ankle first, before the man stood and walked around the bed, to take care of Geralt’s final bond.

“Before you move, please consider I am holding a very sharp knife right now,” the voice informed him. “And I know exactly where to stab. Can you sit?”

It took considerable effort for Geralt to even turn around to lie on his back. Sitting took much more, and left him panting as he leaned against the headboard. “Barely,” he concluded after the long moment it had taken him to sit up.

A heavy piece of cloth landed in his lap. When he tugged off his blindfold and blinked at the dim light of a couple of candles, he realized it was a black cloak. He clenched his fingers around the fabric, a memory nudging him and at the same time heating his entire face.

“Can you drink on your own?” his rescuer asked. “I would have brought you clothes, but that would have roused suspicions. The antidote, on the other hand, took merely a brief lie.”

Geralt took the bottle that was offered to him with both his shaky hands. He wasn’t sure if he could drink on his own, but he’d damn well try. This was already embarrassing enough, he didn’t need to be fed as well. The bottle on his lips woke unwelcome memories of the previous… day? night? time he’d been awake? for him. He had to swallow against his gag reflex before he could even try to drink. And then, with his mouth feeling as numb as the rest of his body, he had to drink slowly so he wouldn’t spill most of the antidote.

He did his very best not to look at his rescuer as he drank. While he’d by now recognized the voice, he hoped that if he’d just didn’t look at him, he could pretend his rescuer was literally anyone else. The antidote tasted about as bitter as the poison had been, but was less thick and oily in his mouth. “Thank you,” he managed between sips.

“You’re welcome. As well as very lucky. How did you manage to let yourself be captured by a gang of human traffickers?” The tone was bland, as if they were making small talk. Geralt wished there’d been some emotion, but he couldn’t discern any.

“Contract for a vampire,” Geralt sighed. The bottle was mostly empty and he could feel the antidote work. In a few minutes, he should be able to move better again. “At least that’s what I was told. Couldn’t know that a bunch of thugs would ambush me with nets and ropes in that stinking warehouse. The rotten fish masked any other smell.” He shifted uncomfortably. “What’re you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, obviously.”

“No, I meant, why. And how, too, if I’m being honest. Do those bandits just call on you every time they got somebody interesting to sell?”

“In your case, they just called on everyone with means,” he was informed. “I merely offered the highest price for you. Why? I am confident we both know why. In a word: Cirilla. How, aside from the hefty sum, is a longer story.”

Geralt handed the empty bottle over when prompted and then hid his face in his hands. He had a long list of people he didn’t want to get rescued by, and of all those people, the one time he did get himself into serious trouble, it had to be Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor emeritus, who came to save his ass. Or buy it, as it stood. “I’ll pay you back,” he offered.

“Nonsense, it was a sensible investment.”

Geralt huffed. “Really? I’m a sensible investment? Who do you want dead?”

“Every last one of these slavers,” Emhyr replied with what counted as naked disgust in his voice. “But I would have tried my utmost regardless. You are beloved by the only person in the world who matters to me. A couple thousand florens is a small price to pay for her continued happiness. And you continue to surprise me in ways that in the end all turn out to lead to a better place than my own plans. In short, you are useful.”

“Thanks?” Geralt ventured. It had sounded like a compliment. “Uhm. So. Are you gonna tell me the long story? Can’t imagine I’m going anywhere anytime soon. So might as well.”

Emhyr snorted softly. “Well. I hope you’ll not think even less of me after. A couple of months ago, I was invited by an old acquaintance and ally at court to a small private gathering. Bored as I was, and despite the warning that the intent of this gathering was of a rather sexual nature, I agreed to join. There, I learned that my acquaintance and his friends liked to tie their sexual partners up and inflict pain upon them. All those sexual partners were young, reasonably pretty and surprisingly submissive. In a quiet aside my host informed me that they’d been trained by him and his guests personally. However, initially, they were all provided by the same individual. My acquaintance offered to liaise me with this individual. I was hesitant at first, although my curiosity had been piqued.” He paused because Geralt had let out a small huff of laughter. “Not like you think. I looked into missing people. I had a type and an age range and unsurprisingly, I noticed a pattern. Details and suspicion, but no proof. At this point, I informed Cirilla of what I’d learnt-”

“You told Ciri about your sex life?!” Geralt gasped before he could stop himself.

“I told Ciri that someone was abducting her subjects, you…” Emhyr took a deep breath to calm himself down. “We agreed that I should investigate further. So I made contact with the intermediary. And three days ago I was offered to make a bid on a white haired witcher. Seeing as you’re the only one that fits the description, I thought it prudent to name a sum I was sure wouldn’t be outbid by anybody else.”

“And now they think you own me,” Geralt mused. He was purposefully not looking at Emhyr while he thought. “You aren’t allowed to bring any guards to their meetings, right?”

“Geralt,” Emhyr growled. He’d undoubtedly followed Geralt’s trail of thought. “No.”

“But, listen, doing this alone? That’s dangerous. And I can’t just let you walk right into that danger alone. If anything happened and…” He’d started kneading the fabric covering his lap. “I would never forgive myself. Ciri would be sad if you died, damn it. So, please, just consider it. I already have an in now, accidentally. Maybe, we could be allies again.”

Emhyr was looking thoughtful when Geralt dared to raise his head again. “If I were to allow you to come along, certain… situations and actions would be unavoidable. Sexual acts, but also acts that would be torture weren’t they meant for pleasure. Would you even allow me to tie you up?”

Geralt thought about it. The idea of sex with Emhyr horrified him. Asking him to be tied up, however, and being at Emhyr’s mercy because of that… He licked his lips. That was a thrill he could get into. Emhyr was good at orders. He knew enough about the human body that he wouldn’t accidentally kill him. And, in extension of Ciri’s trust in him, Geralt trusted him, too.

It didn’t help that his cock gave an interested twitch at his thoughts. 

“I would,” he finally said, feeling almost ashamed at how much the idea really thrilled him. He’d always liked confident, dominant partners in bed. Emhyr, he was sure, could very well deliver on his fantasies. “But if you’re unsure, we could agree that I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

“A secret code?” Emhyr suggested.

“Yeah, a word or a phrase to tell you to slow down or stop if at all possible.” Geralt shrugged. It seemed sensible. “And maybe another to let you know I noticed a danger. Something like that. We’ll come up with ideas.”

Emhyr hummed thoughtfully. “That could work. But do you trust me enough?”

“I know for a fact that you won’t accidentally kill me.” Geralt swallowed. He let the cloak that had up to now covered his groin slide off the bed. His half hard erection was now on full display. He just hoped Emhyr understood that it was because of what they were discussing. “And I know it can be good with somebody who cares. Not that I have a lot of experience.”

Emhyr didn’t give any indication that he’d been listening at all. His eyes were glued to Geralt’s prick.

“Please?” Geralt moved, so he was in a half lying half sitting position. His legs fell open almost on their own. “We could try right now. If it doesn’t work, you can just tell them I’m fighting back too much to bring along.” He wet his dry lips. If need be, he wasn’t above begging, not now that he’d given the idea any thought. Even if it would be just once, he had to find out what that kind of sex with Emhyr was like. “Master, please use me.”

Emhyr growled at him. Actually growled. It was such a surprise Geralt immediately looked at him. His hands were digging into the fabric of his trousers and he was shaking slightly. “Stop mocking me, witcher.”

Geralt’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me,” Emhyr hissed. “I could just walk out and leave you here.”

“What? No! I wasn’t making fun of you.” Geralt took himself in hand. “I was being serious. Do you want me to call you something else? I thought showing you deference during sex might work for us both.”

Emhyr blinked. He had to drag his eyes away from Geralt's hand around his dick. “You will tell me when you reach your limits. When you need me to slow down, you will say…” He touched his hand curled into a light fist to his chin. “Lemon, I’d propose. Simple, not something you’d say in the heat of the moment. And if you want to stop entirely, you’re required to let me know as well, by using… cherry, to stay in theme. In turn, I will not stop when you beg me to, no matter how much you plead.” He looked Geralt straight in the eyes. “I am not familiar enough with what will be expected of us in these circles to detail a plan yet. But I would have you by my side for it.”

Geralt couldn’t help the suggestive grin spreading across his face. “And have fun while we’re at it?”

“Whenever possible,” Emhyr allowed. “And you will not call me master. You are not my dog, nor do I want to think of you as property. A simple sir will suffice during… play?” He thought about it for a moment. “I suppose that is the right word for acting out make believe.”

“Does that make me your toy, your Imperial Majesty?” Geralt was still grinning like the cat that got the canary. He could hear Emhyr’s heart beat a little faster at the use of his former title. His pupils had widened, too, threatening to swallow what thin ring of warm brown remained.

“Why not?” Emhyr waved a hand. “That gives me an idea. Whenever you wish to play, Geralt, you shall ask me formally. When I wish to play, I shall order you to strip. If you comply, it’ll mean you’re game.”

Geralt could feel the blood voiding his head to seek better fortunes further south. His prick twitched in his hands. “I’ve never bowed to you before.”

“And you never shall, outside of this context.” Emhyr’s gaze warmed, just a little, like the first hint of spring. “I picked it precisely because you would never show me that much deference, in any context. And, because occasionally, I would like to see you bow.”

Geralt burst out into a laugh at that. “Alright. We’re doing this, then?” He cleared his throat. Standing, and this bowing, felt like it was still out of the question. But he could do the pleading part. “Your imperial majesty, I humbly petition you to lower yourself to use one such as I for your pleasure." He even did the whole downcast eyes thing and laid his hands by his sides to not cover any part of his body with them.

Emhyr clicked his tongue. “That will do, for today. Next time, I expect better.” Next time… Geralt was sure he could feel his individual heartbeats in his achingly hard cock.

“Turn around. Arms on your back, grasp your elbows with the opposing hand,” Emhyr ordered. Geralt saw him reach for one of the larger bits of rope around the bed before he turned his back to Emhyr and did as he’d been told.

“I do not like that someone has laid his hands on you,” Emhyr hissed, as he bound Geralt’s arms. The rope was just tight enough that Geralt couldn’t free himself and that he would chafe a little if he struggled, but not so tight it cut off circulation. Geralt marked that down in his mind as something he’d been right about. Emhyr knew what he was doing and he was in good hands. “You will have to be punished for allowing it to happen. You will never let anybody touch you like this without my express permission. You,” Emhyr hissed, as he pulled the final knot tight. “Are mine now.”

Geralt swallowed against the moan threatening to spill from his lips. “Yours, sir,” he breathed instead.

“This is mine,” Emhyr went on, as he reached around to flick Geralt’s nipple with the nail of his finger. “This is mine,” he continued, wrapping his hand around Geralt’s neck and squeezing just enough to make it clear that if he wanted to, he knew exactly where to apply pressure to keep Geralt from breathing for however long he deemed necessary.

Geralt shuddered.

“And this, especially, is mine now,” Emhyr concluded, slapping Geralt’s erection. “Good toy, already so hard for me. As you should. However…” He felt around the bed with one hand until he’d found what he’d been looking for. With his other hand, he kept Geralt pressed to his chest. “Today’s punishment and your first lesson. You are no longer allowed to spend yourself, unless I permit it.” And with that, he wrapped the discarded blindfold tightly around the base of Geralt’s aching prick, finishing it off with a bow.

“Wha-” Geralt began only to end it in a loud moan when Emhyr started to jerk him off with one hand.

“Relax,” Emhyr purred into his ear, punctuating the word with a sharp nip on Geralt’s earlobe. “Let me take care of you.”

Confused, Geralt did relax. He had expected something less pleasant as the promised punishment. Emhyr was alternating between feather light touches and hard quick pumps. Never enough to lean into it fully and changing so randomly it kept surprising Geralt. Before long, Geralt had to let his head loll back onto Emhyr’s shoulder. He was panting hard. His chest was covered by a sheen of sweat.

“Did you enjoy getting whipped?” Emhyr asked, holding Geralt in a loose grip that had Geralt thrust his hips for more friction. Which was why Geralt almost missed Emhyr had said anything at all. He was so close already. He could feel his hopefully first of many orgasms build. Just when he thought he was at the edge, Emhyr gripped so hard it actually hurt.

Geralt screamed, more out of shock than pain.

“I asked you a question,” Emhyr hissed. “Did you enjoy it when a man other than me whipped you? Did you savor the sting of each blow to your arse?”

Geralt had to swallow between shaky breaths before he could even attempt to form words. “No,” he eventually managed, before remembering and adding, “No, sir.”

“So you don’t enjoy pain?” Emhyr’s free hand had found Geralt’s nipple again. He was just holding it between two fingers. But Geralt was sure there was something more coming and all he could do was wait.

Belatedly, he answered, “I do, sir.”

Emhyr pinched his nipple, increasing the pressure slowly. “You do? Like this?”

“Yesss,” Geralt hissed, trying to breathe through the mix of pain and pleasure Emhyr’s two hands were inflicting upon him. “Yes, sir, I enjoy it.”

“Why, then?” Still pinching, Emhyr started to twist Geralt’s nipple. It burnt. To Geralt’s shame, he could feel his dick twitch at the stimulation. Emhyr gasped softly by his ear.

“Because you’re doing it, sir,” Geralt pressed out. “Because it hurts, but it won’t damage if you’re doing it, sir.”

“Good answer, my lovely toy,” Emhyr purred. His hand dropped from Geralt’s nipple. At the same time, his other hand started to jerk Geralt off with just the right speed and pressure.

Geralt shuddered. It was perfect, he was about to come and this time Emhyr didn’t pull him back from the edge, he just kept stroking and… Geralt whined. His back was arched. He was about to come and couldn’t, and yet Emhyr kept stimulating him and he wanted, wanted… He shuddered. No matter how hard he strained against his bonds, how hard his dick strained against the blindfold around its base, he couldn’t come. He couldn’t come at all. He dug his nails into his elbows to try to endure the lack of release. 

Eventually, Emhyr slowed down again, allowing Geralt to catch his breath. Geralt’s head was swimming. All he could concentrate on now was the stimulation of his cock. It didn’t help that he was slowly calming back down, not with Emhyr’s hand still around him. He was shivering, relishing being completely in Emhyr’s grasp, with no control even over his own body.

“Please, sir,” he panted, when he’d finally remembered the use of his tongue. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for. “Please,” he repeated, over and over again, until Emhyr stroked him to the edge again.

He lost track of things after that. More than once more, he was brought right to the verge of orgasm and held there, seemingly forever, before he was allowed to rest, only to have it all start over again. He was sure he was babbling, pleading with Emhyr the entire time and enjoying it. His entire body felt sensitive. Eventually, during the breaks, Emhyr let go entirely of Geralt’s prick in favor of playing with his nipples with both hands, pinching, twisting, and pulling. The whole thing had Geralt desperately thrusting his hips into the air, desperate for more stimulation and at the same time so overwrought he’d probably been able to come from his nipples alone without the tight bond around his cock.

“You’ve been such a good toy for me,” Emhyr murmured from an impossible distance. Geralt barely heard it above the white noise filling his ears. What he did register was the former blindfold coming loose with a single tug at the ribbon.

The orgasm that followed was blinding. Geralt started to sob as he came and came and came, like he’d never done before. When he was finally done, he went limp, as if with his seed, all the tension holding him up had been drawn from his body. His head slumped forward, chin against his chest. Without Emhyr holding him, he would have collapsed.

And then, just when Geralt could feel his senses return to him, Emhyr started to stroke him to another orgasm.

In the end, Geralt came four times, each orgasm leaving him more sensitive than the last. He was crying, his overstimulated penis both hard and throbbing with pain, by the time Emhyr finally stopped. None of the three orgasms that followed had been as explosive as the first, but all of them had drained him. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, possibly forever, but Emhyr hadn’t told him yet that he could and he wanted to please Emhyr even more than he was exhausted.

“You did good,” Emhyr purred, holding his come stained hand up to Geralt’s mouth. “Lick,” he ordered and Geralt complied. It didn’t taste that bad, his own spent mixing with the salt of Emhyr’s skin, the smell of both their arousal surrounding him. 

For the first time, Geralt became aware of Emhyr’s hard erection, pressing against his backside, straining the soft fabric of Emhyr’s trousers. He whined, softly, as he started to take Emhyr’s fingers in his mouth, sucking at them, one by one, imagining how much better it would be if it was Emhyr’s cock in his mouth. How Emhyr would taste, filling his mouth with seed.

“Talk,” Emhyr ordered as he removed his hand.

“Sir, please let me use my mouth on you,” Geralt whined. “Please, sir. I want you, sir.”

After a moment of deliberation, Emhyr decided, “No. But you’ve been so good for me, a reward is in order.”

Geralt couldn’t help the disappointed whine escaping him, not even as Emhyr eased him down so that he was lying on his back, and thus, his bound arms. Emhyr then proceeded to straddle Geralt’s chest, fumbling with his trousers to free himself, right above Geralt’s face. Geralt couldn’t help but stare. His mouth was watering even though he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to blow Emhyr yet.

Instead, Emhyr took himself in hand, and Geralt opened his mouth, voluntarily, without an order. It didn’t take Emhyr long to finish. His come fell onto Geralt’s face and into his mouth spurt by spurt. “Don’t… swallow,” Emhyr bit out. He rubbed his prick clean against Geralt’s beard. Then, started to feed Geralt the come that had missed his mouth. Only when Geralt’s face was free of his seed, he allowed, “You may swallow now.”

Geralt did, staring up at Emhyr the entire time. He was completely spent, exhausted, even, but so happy at the same time. He’d needed this, this kind of sex, even the punishment of it, and hadn’t known it.

Tired as he was, he let Emhyr roll him onto his side to free his arms from the bondage. He didn’t even register that Emhyr’d gotten up from the bed, until a mug filled with fresh cold water was held to his lips. Thankful, he emptied it completely. 

“I’ll give you more in a moment,” Emhyr promised as he took the mug away. To Geralt’s immense surprise, he then started to clean him with a soft moist cloth, face first, then his chest and at last his crotch. Geralt hissed when the cloth made contact with his still oversensitive penis. Emhyr kept the touch brief, cleaning up only the worst, before tossing the cloth aside. He then moved Geralt to a dry part of the mattress.

“Why…?” Geralt asked, as Emhyr settled down next to him and pulled him into an embrace. Not that he was complaining the way Emhyr suddenly took care of him. It was merely unexpected.

“To remind myself that you’re still a person, and an equal,” Emhyr replied. He’d started petting Geralt’s hair, carefully untangling some of the knots in it. “And that this is real and that was play. How are your hands?”

Geralt flexed his right hand. There were a few rope burns here and there, but they’d be gone in less than a day. “All good,” he concluded. As subtly as he could, he rolled his stiff shoulders. “If I’d known it’d be like this, I’d have begged you to tie me up years ago.”

“That good?” Emhyr chuckled. “I’d never imagined you to be this submissive in bed.”

“I rarely have partners I trust enough,” Geralt sighed. “And, sweet Melitele, do you know what you’re doing.”

Emhyr was laughing softly, as he patted Geralt’s hand in what should have been a disparaging gesture but which just felt nice. “Get some rest, Geralt. We have a few more hours here. I’ll wake you before it’s time to leave.”


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt woke up on his own, still cuddled against Emhyr’s side. The candles around the room had burnt down significantly since he’d fallen asleep. And Emhyr was reading, removing his hand from Geralt’s hair only when he needed to turn a page. Geralt didn’t move, enjoying the pets he was still getting.

“Are you rested?” Emhyr asked after a while. Aside from his words, he didn’t give any indication he’d noticed Geralt was awake. “There’s still some time.”

A little regretful, Geralt peeled himself away from Emhyr’s side and stretched. The antidote had worked on him while he’d slept, together with the exercise before. He was finally feeling like himself again. But he was still thirsty, and upon spotting a jug and mug on a table at the wall, he got up, stretched some more, and then helped himself to the remaining water.

Next to the jug on the table were an interesting selection of implements, laid out neatly and sorted into groups by type. Whips, crops, switches and paddles. Smooth carvings from wood and stone, and polished casts of metal, ranging from life like approximations of phalluses to bulbs of staggering circumference. The ring gag Geralt had already had the displeasure of using, side by side with a number of other gags.

The ideas that came unbidden at the sight made Geralt’s still sensitive dick twitch in cautious interest.

He picked up one of the artificial phalluses, a matte bronze cast with a wide and flat base. Twirling it in his hands, he turned around to face Emhyr. “Say,” he began, purposefully avoiding looking at Emhyr. “How much longer do you think we have?”

Emhyr snapped his book shut. “An hour, at best. Are you not yet satisfied?”

Feeling his ears heat, Geralt shook his head.

“I see.” Emhyr paused for a moment. “Bring me the implements you wish to use and then ask me properly.”

Geralt swallowed. He’d expected Emhyr to say no. As if in a trance, he looked over the table. If he could, he would have wanted to try every last one of them. But since time was limited, he picked the ring gag and a flexible leather paddle, in addition to the bronze phallus.

“And some more rope,” Emhyr ordered, just as Geralt was about to walk back over to the bed.

Obediently, Geralt picked a fresh coil of rope up as well.

Emhyr was sitting at the edge of the bed, leg’s spread and arms crossed, waiting for Geralt. He pointed at the floor between his feet. Without hesitation, Geralt knelt, lowering his head at the same time as he raised his hands to offer up the toys.

Geralt had to think about what to say for a moment. He eventually settled on: “Your toy humbly requests your Imperial Majesty plays with it.”

“With  _ him _ ,” Emhyr immediately corrected. “Again!” 

Geralt swallowed. “Your toy humbly requests your Imperial Majesty to play with him?” He couldn’t help the way his voice went up at the end of the sentence. He had no idea what Emhyr wanted from him yet.

“Again,” Emhyr sighed. “I do not want it to sound like a question.”

“A'baeth me arse, Emhyr,” Geralt growled, getting frustrated.

For a moment, Emhyr didn’t react at all, stunned into silence. Then, he started laughing, eventually even putting his hand on Geralt’s shoulder to keep himself from bending over too far.

“You're not taking this seriously,” Geralt grumbled, mostly because he had the feeling Emhyr was laughing at him. And because they were still getting nowhere. Because Emhyr kept laughing. He nudged his knee with his shoulder, careful not to drop any of the implements. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry,” Emhyr choked out. “Sorry, it was just so unexpected. And bad. Your accent is so bad. Give me a moment.”

Geralt waited for Emhyr to compose himself again. It took a long moment, but then Emhyr started to take the implements one by one from Geralt’s hands.

“Good thing you already brought me a paddle to punish you with,” Emhyr noted. “I’m not sure whether I should punish you for butchering Elder Speech or for what you attempted to say.”

Geralt swallowed in anticipation.

“Although it’s unclear to me how much of a punishment it’ll be for you, seeing as how you were the one to pick this in the first place.” Emhyr used the paddle under Geralt’s chin to make him look up. “I’ll make sure you won’t be able to sit on your tender bottom for days.”

Geralt felt faint from how fast his blood rushed down to fill his penis. Involuntarily, he let out a moan.

Emhyr leaned back as he took the paddle away. “Across my lap. Ass to my right and up. Get to it.”

As fast as he could, Geralt scrambled to his feet. There was no elegant way for him to drape himself on his stomach across Emhyr’s lap. In the end, he settled on kneeling by his side and then slowly lowered himself on his hands, taking the last bit of the way slow, until his head was pillowed on his arms. He held his breath in anticipation.

Instead of the blow he’d expected, Emhyr stroked over his butt, slowly and gently. “So pretty,” he whispered. “Although it will look better in crimson. Or maybe even purple. The contrast to the rest of your skin will be so lovely. What do you say when you need a break?”

“Lemon,” Geralt gasped. Emhyr’s hand was so warm, he missed it almost instantly when it withdrew. “Cherry for stop, sir.”

“Good, very good,” Emhyr purred. He patted Geralt’s ass. “Try to remain silent. There will be a reward if you don’t scream before I’m done.”

Geralt clenched his teeth. A challenge. He could take it, he could please Emhyr, he would stay silent.

The first blow came suddenly and with all of Emhyr’s considerable force. It drove the air from Geralt’s lungs, so hard he almost screamed out of surprise. After that, Emhyr settled into a rhythm of sorts. It took Geralt a while to figure it out, because it was five smacks long and the pauses and strength of the blows varied. But once he had it, he could anticipate the hits. It made it easier to endure, even though his ass was starting to burn under the stinging pain each slap of the paddle caused.

He’d gotten up to fifty while counting blows in his head and his ass was feeling well and truly tender by the time Emhyr stopped. Gerald had managed to stay silent throughout, even though the last ten slaps had hit in almost the exact same spot, driving tears to his eyes. As Emhyr had promised, even with the enhanced healing of his Witcher metabolism, Geralt was sure it would be days before he could sit comfortably again. Worst of all, he’d liked it. His penis was hard and heavy between his legs and had been leaking a steady stream of precum. The shame Geralt felt over it was almost worse than the pain.

“Well done,” Emhyr cooed. He was petting Geralt’s head again. “As promised, I’ll give you a reward now.” Without any further warning, he pushed Geralt off his lap and thus onto the floor. Geralt gasped in surprise more than anything. His reflexes had made sure he didn’t hurt himself falling.

“Kneel,” Emhyr ordered. He’d picked up the gag between two fingers and was dangling it in front of Geralt’s face. Once Geralt was kneeling, he went on. “Open up.” Emhyr was considerably more gentle with the gag than Geralt’s previous experience. He made sure it was secure in its place without being too uncomfortable, but still tied it tight around Geralt’s head.

“This is what you were hoping for with this gag, wasn’t it?” Emhyr was unlacing his trousers again. “Nod for yes.”

Geralt nodded.

“As your reward, I won’t tie your hands for this,” Emhyr mused, stroking his thumb over Geralt’s lower lip. It tingled. “You may set whatever pace you wish. You have ten minutes. Any minute longer will be subtracted from your preparation time for the next part of this play. I will let you know when I’m about to come.”

Geralt swallowed. After a moment’s consideration, he nodded.

Emhyr was only half hard, so Geralt’s first task was to get him fully there. He did so with his hand, running two fingers from base to tip first, before grabbing it and stroking in earnest. Emhyr had leaned back, most of his weight resting on his forearms. Geralt could feel him watch. He could hear his catching breath. The tiny noises of pleasure Emhyr was trying to hide. He kept chasing them, out of a sudden need to please. They guided him to the right amount of pressure, the right speed, the places where Emhyr liked to be touched the most. And he was rewarded, with milky pearls of precum, beading at the slit, moistening his hands.

The gag made it awkward to breathe. He felt like he was constantly drooling, while at the same time his tongue was getting drier and drier. But he saw the sense in it. In a way, it took one big worry away from him. He wouldn’t bite Emhyr, no matter how clumsy he was on his first try at a blowjob with a man. He couldn’t. The gag was made just for this. He took a deep breath through his nose, savouring the smell of Emhyr’s arousal. He was ready. They both were. 

Not entirely sure how to go about it, Geralt put one hand flat over Emhyr’s hip bone while holding his prick steady with the other. He had to sit up straighter and lean forward so he could guide the tip into his mouth. Tentatively, he licked over the tip, eliciting a low moan from Emhyr. Thus emboldened, he continued to move his tongue, pressing it flat against the underside of Emhyr’s dick as he took more and more of it into his mouth. He didn’t halt until he felt the tip against the back of his throat, threatening to irritate his gag reflex.

Instead of pulling off right away, he took the opportunity to explore a bit with his tongue. Emhyr tasted surprisingly clean. Definitely different from a woman, despite of that. The skin was soft, velvet like, but there was a thick vein, pulsing against his tongue, too. He pulled back, so only the tip was in his mouth again. With the tip of his tongue, Geralt licked at the slit, doing his best to lap up all the precum, even though it just kept coming.

Emhyr put a hand on the back of his head and he let him, humming in pleasure, even as Emhyr started to pull at his hair. Despite his earlier words, Emhyr wanted to take control and Geralt was more than willing to let him. He couldn’t bring himself to push past his gag reflex on his own yet, but he was eager to try, with help. So when he was pushed down, slowly, he did his best to relax, to take everything Emhyr wanted him to. The first push was slow and Emhyr pulled back after only a few seconds, before Geralt could even start to gag. He repeated that, holding Geralt in place ever so much longer each time.

“You’ll be so good at this with a little practice,” Emhyr panted somewhere above him. “You already look so arousing, eagerly swallowing almost my entire length. Like a good little toy.”

Geralt moaned. The idea of future practice sounded very exciting to him. Both getting used in whichever way Emhyr wanted, and pleasing him with his mouth because Geralt wanted to be a good toy, to get praised and to satisfy his master.

It was that thought that made him push forward the rest of the way, ignoring the discomfort of his throat while taking deep breaths through his nose, buried in Emhyr’s pubes. Here, he could smell the arousal clearer, aside the remnants of the soap Emhyr used. He tried to swallow, to endure it longer, but he had to pull back eventually, to gasp for breath.

Emhyr was looking at him like he was a marvel, so Geralt did it again. And again. And again, until Emhyr was bucking his hips and his breath was shallow, and the blunt nails of the hand that had dropped from Geralt’s head to his shoulder were digging into his flesh. Emhyr kept panting Geralt’s name, over and over, like a prayer. And then, he smacked Geralt’s shoulder, trying to push him away when that didn’t work. He was trying to form words between moans but none were legible.

Combined with the way Emhyr’s prick was pulsing against Geralt’s tongue, it wasn’t that hard to get what Emhyr meant to tell him. That Geralt should pull off, because he was about to cum. Geralt thought about it for a second. He pulled back just enough to take a deep breath, before he surged forward again, doing his very best to take the entire length into his mouth and throat and keeping it there. He swallowed, as best as he could, not just for the stimulation it provided and the way it eased his gag reflex, but also because he could feel Emhyr spilling his seed into him, directly down his throat. Only when he couldn’t hold his breath anymore did he pull back, enough to breathe again while keeping the tip of Emhyr’s cock still in his mouth. He only let it go when, eventually, Emhyr made him, gripping Geralt’s hair for purchase with gentle force.

For a moment, Emhyr merely looked at Geralt through glassy eyes. His chest was still heaving and there was a definite flush to his skin Geralt had never seen before.

“You did well,” Emhyr praised. He’d sat up so he could undo the knot holding Geralt’s gag in place. “So eager. Drinking up every last drop this time. Like you were made to suck cock.”

Geralt licked his dry lips as soon as the gag was out of his mouth. He was so pleased with himself for how wrecked Emhyr looked. For that alone, he could do it again and again in the future. But it also helped how hard he himself still was.

Emhyr had noticed it, too. His expression was thoughtful as he stared between Geralt’s spread legs. He nudged Geralt’s cock carefully with the tip of his boot. “We should do something about this,” he noted. “On the bed. On your elbows and knees. Lucky for you, we still have one object unused.”

While Geralt scrambled up on the bed again, he could hear Emhyr rummage around, clearly in search of something. It took a while until he stopped. Geralt was of half a mind to complain about the wait. The only thing stopping him was the pained backside reminding him what would happen if he did. He was sure the next punishment would be more painful.

The bed dipped under Emhyr as he climbed on it behind him. His hand was cold when he brushed it over Geralt’s ass. “Tell me, Geralt,” he murmured. “Has anyone ever taken you like this?”

Geralt shuddered. “No, sir.”

“Never?” He nudged Geralt’s legs apart further. “Have you played with yourself here before?” A thin cold finger circled Geralt’s hole.

“No, sir,” Geralt replied, forcing himself to breathe. He was shivering in anticipation, which worried him only slightly. “Never, sir.”

Emhyr hummed. Something wet and cold trickled down Geralt’s crack. A moment later, Emhyr pressed his finger against Geralt’s hole. It met resistance, but whatever Emhyr had spilled on him greased his way inside. It barely even burned.

“Seems like you told the truth,” Emhyr mused. He slowly moved his finger in and out of Geralt. “We’ll have to take it slow then. It’d be impossible for you to take even that little toy you picked for yourself. A shame. I would have enjoyed fucking you into submission.”

Geralt stifled a moan. He was more and more sure he’d enjoy that, too, when they eventually got there.

“I expect you to tell me when I am being too impatient,” Emhyr said. As if to underline his point, he put a second finger against Geralt’s entrance. It went in easily with the first. And the pressure of Emhyr’s fingers holding him open, opening him up further with each push inside, felt good. Geralt was quickly losing any doubt he’d ever had about this being pleasurable.

He still screamed when Emhyr pushed his fingers inside to the base, twisted and then hooked them. The motion somehow went straight to Geralt’s balls and made him leak a string of precum onto the sheets.

“Sensitive,” Emhyr hummed. It sounded like a compliment. He didn’t give Geralt much of a break before he did it again, rubbing his fingers against that spot he’d just found. Geralt clawed at the sheets. His arms were shaking, threatening to collapse under him. 

“Pass me the pillows,” Emhyr suddenly ordered. He’d withdrawn his fingers completely to drag them through the liquid in Geralt’s crack some more. Blindly, Geralt reached for the pillows and put them within Emhyr’s reach. When he was done, he wondered if he was allowed to let his arms collapse. To his surprise, Emhyr stuffed the pillows under Geralt’s belly. “For support. You may lie down, if your ass stays where it is.”

Grateful, Geralt lowered his upper body. It made him feel more vulnerable, with his back curved and his ass high in the air compared to the rest of his body. Like he was begging to be taken. Which he was, in a way. He could feel his ears heat up.

“Are you ashamed of this, now, Geralt?” Emhyr asked. His fingers were circling Geralt’s pucker. “Now? When you’ve already begged me to use you? After you swallowed my prick like a skilled whore?” He drove his fingers back inside Geralt. “You surprise me,” Emhyr commented idly as he kept fucking his fingers in and out of Geralt, unpertubed by the noises he was eliciting from him. “For a man of your… experience, you’re quite sweet. Almost virginial.”

Geralt whimpered. He wasn’t sure what to say, even if he could. Not with how Emhyr kept pushing his fingers inside him in a way that made him see stars. He was so close to cuming already. Desperately, he clawed at the sheets, bit the inside of his cheeks, anything to hold out just a little longer.

“I could make you cum just like this, on my fingers,” Emhyr hummed. He brushed a finger of his free hand down the length of Geralt’s dick. Geralt keened. “Would you prefer that to cold metal?”

“Please,” Geralt moaned. “Please… Emhyr, please… just… something. I want you. Please.”

Emhyr repeated the gentle brush down Geralt’s cock. Again, it made Geralt keen, so much he pushed himself further onto Emhyr’s fingers. Emhyr huffed out a small noise of amusement. He put his free hand on Geralt’s hip and started to fuck his fingers into him with renewed energy.

The orgasm Geralt finally reached felt like none before. It had built and built, deep in the pit of his stomach, and then it was like a damn had burst. It flooded through him, made his head swim. None of his orgasms had ever lasted as long, either. He just kept coming, in a steady trickle.

The second Emhyr pulled his fingers out, Geralt collapsed. He was shaking badly. He barely noticed Emhyr wiping his fingers on the sheets. What he did notice was the bronze phallus slide home inside him. It was cold enough to make him yelp.

“You may keep lying still while I finish up with you,” Emhyr said. Geralt could feel him moving around but he didn’t want to lift his head and look. Whatever he was up to, it couldn’t be too bad. The next time Emhyr touched him, it was to manhandle him back on his hands and knees. Turned out what he intended to do was tie Geralt up with the rope around his torso and hips. It barely restricted Geralt, mostly kept him from breathing in too deeply. The main purpose seemed to be decorative, until Emhyr pulled the final rope tight between Geralt’s legs. It would keep the bronze phallus inside, no matter how much Geralt moved.

“There we go.” Emhyr patted Geralt’s ass. “Would you mind your abductors seeing you like this?” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “I’d propose ending our play back at my residence. To feed our cover.”

Geralt made a noncommittal noise. He didn’t care much, not with the phallus up his ass rubbing at that still oversensitive spot inside him.

“Geralt.” Emhyr nudged him.

“Mhhh.” Geralt groaned. “Don’t care.”

“I want to tie up your hands, too,” Emhyr went on. Instead of answering, Geralt just put his arms behind his back. It made the ropes tighten around his chest, but not enough to choke him. “Not talking to me anymore? I always thought I could never make you shut up for good. And now it turns out I went about it wrong the entire time.”

Geralt laughed softly into the mattress. Without the use of his hands, it took some effort to sit up. A second later, he realized that sitting only drove the phallus deeper. As spent and exhausted as he was, it still made his cock twitch a little. “We’re leaving now?”

“In a moment, yes.” Emhyr had donned his cloak again. He put on the hood, so his face was partially obscured. “I feel like I should put you on a leash.”

“I’m naked, bound and barefoot,” Geralt noted as he climbed out of the bed. “Don’t think I could run with or without a leash.” He smirked. “But feel free to tug me around some more.”

“Keep being this cocky with me, and I’ll tie it to your balls,” Emhyr threatened. At least, the words were a threat, but his tone was almost good natured. Despite that, he tied a thinner rope to the one in the center of Geralt’s chest. It was long enough that he could keep it loose and didn’t have to tug Geralt around. When he was done, he brushed his hand down Geralt’s arm.

“Ready?”

Geralt nodded. He was a little mortified by himself for being ready to be paraded outside and into, hopefully, a coach.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. There were no people in the corridors they walked down, not until it opened into a wider room that was set up like a guards’ room, with a table to play cards or dice at and warm fire against the damp cold of the dungeon. On the far side, Geralt could spot stairs leading up.

Emhyr talked to one of the guards for a while. Money changed hands. Geralt could feel the gazes on him, could hear the whispered comments that he looked like a tamed beast. Eventually, there was the clatter of hooves outside. The guard and Emhyr bid each other farewell, before Geralt was led up the stairs.

It was dark outside. The courtyard wasn’t lit by any torches. Only the lamps on the coach offered a meager amount of gloom.

“Inside,” Emhyr ordered, holding the door of the coach open for Geralt. The driver hadn’t left his seat. Geralt got the feeling that he was pretending not to notice what his master had been up to.

Geralt climbed inside. For a moment, he considered sitting down on one of the plush benches. It didn’t feel quite right. So he knelt on the floor, his head cast down and waited.

Somebody loaded something heavy into the trunk of the coach. It smelled of metal and leather. Emhyr took a pouch of money from some hidden compartment and handed it to the guard who’d followed them. There was another brief conversation, before Emhyr climbed into the coach and signalled the driver that he was ready.

Almost without thinking, Geralt shuffled between Emhyr’s spread legs so he could put his head on Emhyr’s thigh. Immediately, Emhyr started to pet his head.

“It’ll please you to hear,” Emhyr whispered. “That for a small extra fee, I was able to obtain your armor and swords. The warden quite liked the idea of you having to see it displayed every day. Of course, I don’t intend to do that.”

Geralt made a noise in response. He couldn’t really concentrate on words, when every bit of uneven road moved the phallus inside his ass. He was hard again, had been since the guards’ room when he’d been stared at. It made him think that maybe he really was, deep down, enjoying the humiliation of it. A thought for another day, preferably in private.

The drive was long enough for Emhyr to doze, his fingers moving slower and slower until they stopped. Geralt let him be. He, too, could do with a nap, if only the thing inside of him would let him. Maybe he’d just ask Emhyr to stay over, once they were alone again.

The coach stopped, eventually. The driver rapped at the door, then walked away when Emhyr responded in kind. They waited until he was gone, before Emhyr opened the door. “Everyone should be asleep,” Emhyr whispered. “But we’ll still be taking the front door and stay away from the servants’ quarters and especially the kitchen, to be safe. My private rooms are on the second floor.”

Geralt nodded. His legs were stiff from kneeling for so long and he was tired. If Emhyr’d promised him a soft bed and hot bath, he would have let him parade him all around the Duchy, for all Geralt cared.

Emhyr needn’t have worried. They didn’t encounter a single soul on their way up to Emhyr’s bedroom. Once there, Geralt was left standing in the middle of the room, while Emhyr lit some candles. When there was enough light for him to see by, he started to untie the ropes around Geralt’s arms and body, rolling them up carefully for later use.

“There,” he sighed when he was done. “Bend over so I can remove the phallus.”

Geralt looked around, decided the bed was his best option and leaned on it while he bent over and spread his legs as best as he could. A long moan broke free of his lips when Emhyr pulled the bronze phallus out. It felt so good, Geralt debated begging to be fucked with it, his exhaustion be damned. Once done, he could hear Emhyr drop it into a wash basin on the dresser.

“How are you feeling?” Emhyr asked. He was hovering, Geralt could tell. “Do you need anything?”

Geralt turned, so he could look Emhyr in the eyes. “Pets and cuddles?”

Emhyr actually smiled at that. “Then you shall have them. If you’d like to stay over, that is.”

With a happy little noise, Geralt made himself comfortable on Emhyr’s bed. It smelled like him, and sunshine and the herbs the servants used to clean the sheets. So much better than the bed in the dungeon.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” Emhyr promised. Geralt barely registered it, his mind already drifting off to sleep.


End file.
